


Pain Scale

by alcyonenight



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blink-and-you'll-miss-it suicidal ideation, Blood and Injury, Chronic Pain, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Vomiting, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:02:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23834308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alcyonenight/pseuds/alcyonenight
Summary: Prompto's got just a little daemon blood in him from the MT program he was rescued from. It's resulted in chronic pain his whole life.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia & Prompto Argentum & Noctis Lucis Caelum & Ignis Scientia
Comments: 12
Kudos: 289





	Pain Scale

**Author's Note:**

> Scenario and a couple scene ideas from Saltslimes over on tumblr.

????:

As an infant, the doctor said Prompto had colic. His mother later told people that he started crying as soon as their car drove up to the Wall and didn't stop for a year.

* * *

Four:

Five years old, midmorning, under the sun guard of the car.

Prompto tried to explain it to the doctor. He knew what "pain" meant. He knew that the sunlight hurt. And he knew that it wasn't _supposed_ to hurt, but it did.

The doctor had completely misunderstood, told his parents that skin as pale as Prompto's would be prone to sunburn and that he should wear a hat outside.

Prompto cries the whole way home.

* * *

Three:

At fourteen, in Prompto's room, at night with the blackout curtains closed. The pain is something there under his awareness, of course, but it doesn't keep him from doing other things. He plays King's Knight, he does his homework, and he sleeps. He doesn't question why the blackout curtains need to be closed but he can sit in the full fluorescent lights with no particular effect on the pulsing pain through his body. No good can come of it.

* * *

Seven:

At sixteen, during PE in the afternoon sunlight. Prompto religiously slathers every bare millimeter of his skin with sunscreen, and extra that might get exposed if he moves, but it doesn't really matter. His entire body throbs with his heartbeat and it's so, so hard to concentrate.

But he can't skip PE now that he's friends with Noct. Ignis hadn't said it outright, but the implication had hung heavy in the air.

So now Prompto's schedule allows for this level of pain. He doesn't eat breakfast or lunch because it will make him sick as soon as the light drapes over his shoulders. He makes sure that he knows as much of the plan for PE as possible before he goes outside, when it will be difficult to understand what people are saying through the haze. He wears sunscreen all year, and wears sunglasses strapped to his head even on cloudy days.

The instructor's words are almost inaudible over the roaring of blood in his ears, so he looks to see what everyone else is doing. Jumping jacks. Fair enough.

It hurts to move, but it doesn't hurt _more_ to move, just differently. 

For Noct. For Lady Lunafreya and Tiny. Hands up.

* * *

Five:

Eighteen years old, trying to sleep on the couch in Noct's apartment. There are blinds on the windows, but they're never closed even at night, because who's going to see? 

Prompto feels like the Wall is staring at him through the window.

He could close the blinds, claim that the city lights were keeping him awake. They would believe him. They wouldn't think anything of it.

The Wall pulls at him, and the pressure inside his body throbs in response.

Something is so, so wrong with him, Prompto reflects.

He does not close the blinds.

* * *

Zero:

At twenty, that first night out of Insomnia, under the stars.

It takes awhile for Prompto to identify that's what this is. No pain. None. Here in the dark, he doesn't hurt.

It's impossible not to revel in it. Prompto spins, twirls, dances. It's never been like this before.

"Hey, are you okay?" Noct asks him.

Prompto almost laughs. "I feel really good," he says. 

Noct sort of stares, for a moment, then shrugs. "I'm glad," he says.

Prompto has always wondered if Noct hurts, after the attack when he was a kid. He's never asked, because he's never wanted anyone to ask about him. But certainly, Noct isn't moving any differently in the dark than he does in the light.

Prompto should have known good things can't last, though, because-

* * *

Eight:

Sitting on a Haven.

Just walking up close to it makes Prompto stumble. He knows it's going to be bad, but he didn't have any concept of how bad it was going to be. His stomach churns. He tries to control his breathing. He sits down--sits down on the thing that wants to kill him, has to _want_ to kill him. 

It's never been this bad before, but it's been pretty bad before. So Prompto can do it. He can do it.

The pain is at the forefront of his mind constantly, but there's still a little room for more. Enough that he can laugh at the right times, pull out a stock joke about being an airhead. He doesn't eat, can't eat. He fumbles through helping to set up camp, though.

He thinks laying down and being still is going to help, so he claims to be tired and takes an early night. 

Laying down does not help. At least, not with the pain. The others don't expect anything from him, though, don't expect him to move or talk.

Prompto waits four excruciating hours for the others to go to sleep, then practically crawls out to the edge of the Haven and stands just beyond its boundary until his body settles. He spends three hours there, centimeters away from the worst pain in his life. 

It's not hard to make the connection. _What can't cross into a Haven?_

Noct wakes sometime in the night. "Prompto!" he calls, loud enough that there's no way to pretend not to hear it.

Prompto turns and smiles and prays that Noct doesn't notice where his feet are. "Just getting some air."

"Get it somewhere safer," Noct says, a hint of actual distress in his voice--no dice--and when Prompto hesitates to move, steps closer and tugs Prompto over the border.

Prompto's whole body jerks tense and the pressure, without being able to control it, is almost unbearable. He almost, almost whimpers.

He smiles even though he knows it must be strained. "Sorry, dude," he says. And then they go back in the tent.

Prompto doesn't sleep. He thinks of death.

* * *

One:

Standing on the pier at Galden Quay, in the shade, talking to an eerie man who doesn't give his name.

When the man walks away, the pain takes his place.

* * *

Nine:

A sword rises from an ancient king's tomb, and Prompto feels pressure spike into blinding pain. He yells something, incoherent.

"Noct's fine," Gladio says, sounding amused.

Prompto throws up all over the floor, but the throbbing is already dying back. He doesn't ask why he might have been worried about Noct and lets them assume whatever they want as he gets his hands to steady.

* * *

Six:

Taking a garula tusk straight to the gut.

It doesn't feel good for sure, but Prompto was in about this much pain just yesterday while they sat on an uncovered pier for an entire afternoon while Noct fished, so it doesn't register that something seriously bad has happened to him until he turns around, hoping for praise for a good shot, and everyone stares at him in horror.

He looks down. The wound looks pretty gross, actually. He thinks he can maybe see his own organs.

"Noct, elixir," Ignis calls, stepping up to Prompto. "Now."

Noct sprints over, pulls an elixir out of the Armiger, breaks it over the wound. Prompto feels his insides squirming, watches pink new skin form in layers.

He would've died here in the dirt, without Noct, and it barely registered that he was hurt. That's probably pretty bad.

"We should get back to the Haven," Ignis says. "Rest there for a night, then reassess."

"I'm fine," Prompto says, trying to inject some force into it. They completely ignore him.

Gladio, without asking for permission, scoops Prompto up into his arms and ignores the ensuing squeal of protest. "It's almost a mile, punk, there's no way you're ready to walk that far. You've lost a lot of blood and that's still gotta hurt."

Prompto _could,_ though. It wouldn't even be that hard if all he had to do was walk. But there's not a lot of point in arguing.

* * *

Ten:

Being carried over the ledge of the Haven, under the hot noon sun, after being healed from a garula tusk to the gut.

Prompto screams. He can't stop screaming. Voices float above him.

"Off- Haven!" he chokes out, trying to writhe out of Gladio's arms.

He blacks out before finding out if they do it.

* * *

Two:

Regaining consciousness in a motel bed after the Garula and Haven... incidents. 

"What the fuck," Noct says. It's not even really a question.

It's not nearly enough pain to impair his thinking, but Prompto struggles to come up with an answer anyway.

"I'm sorry."

"I don't want an apology," Noct says.

"I don't know what to say," Prompto says. And he doesn't. He really doesn't.

"Start from the beginning," Ignis suggests.

Prompto takes a deep breath, lets it out, breathes in deep again. "My parents said I cried a lot when I was a baby," he says, because that's the beginning, isn't it?

Over the course of an hour it all comes out, the unyielding pain behind the Wall, the painless dark outside it, the boiling pressure on a Haven. Prompto's worries about what this means, what he _is_. Stuttered apologies through all of it.

Ignis sits at the little table in the motel room, pushes his glasses a little further back on his nose. "Well," he says, "it appears that we're going to have to adjust the budget."

"What?" Prompto asks.

"Well, obviously we can't sleep at Havens anymore if they try to kill you," Noct says.

"And if we can get a doctor we should get you some pain medication," Gladio says. "Something that will really work, for if we _have_ to go to a Haven or spend six hours in direct sunlight or something."

"But-" Prompto says.

"But you're staying with us," Noct says, calm, like it's a given. "So what you need matters."

And Prompto bursts into tears. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry I-"

" _We're_ sorry," Noct says, and wraps his arms gently around Prompto, still mindful of the recent wound. "We should have known something was wrong. I mean, I knew something was wrong, and I didn't even ask. We were hurting you."

"The sun was hurting me," Prompto says. "It's not your fault."

"We-"

"Should get Prompto some water, and then allow him to get some rest," Ignis cuts Noct off, something that he very rarely does. "It's late and we've had a trying day."

"Right," Noct says.

But Prompto doesn't quite believe it--not until morning.

Morning, and the new budget in neat print on the table, with cash allotted for sleeping indoors, and Ignis starts asking questions about how daemon-repelling lights impact him. And Gladio has left all the blinds closed instead of opening them to "let the day in." Noct is on his phone desperately searching for the best pain doctor in Lestallum--"Do you care if you have a male or female doctor?"

And Prompto cries a little, but not from pain at all.


End file.
